Women

HENRY CHINASKI, MINOR

POET, FOUND DEAD IN

UTAH WOODS

Henry Chinaski, former post office clerk turned writer, was found in a decomposed state yesterday afternoon by forest ranger W. K. Brooks Jr. Also found near the remains was a small red notebook which evidently contained Mr. Chinaski's last written work.

I walked on. Soon I was in a soggy area full of water. Every now and then one of my legs would sink to the knee in the bog and I'd have to haul myself out.

I came to a barbed wire fence. I knew immediately that I shouldn't climb the fence. I knew that it was the wrong thing to do, but there seemed no alternative. I climbed over the fence and stood there, cupped both hands around my mouth and screamed: " LYDIA!"

There was no answer.

I tried it again: " LYDIA!"

My voice sounded very mournful. The voice of a coward.

I moved on. It would be nice, I thought, to be back with the sisters, hearing them laugh about sex and men and dancing and parties. It would be so nice to hear Glendoline's voice. It would be nice to run my hand through Lydia 's long hair. I'd faithfully take her to every party in town. I'd even dance with all the women and make brilliant jokes about everything. I'd endure all that subnormal driveling shit with a smile. I could almost hear myself. "Hey, that's a great dance tune! Who wants to really go? Who wants to boogie on out?"

I kept walking through the bog. Finally I reached dry land. I got to a road. It was just an old dirt road, but it looked good. I could see tire marks, hoof prints. There were even wires overhead that carried electricity somewhere. All I had to do was follow those wires. I walked along the road. The sun was high in the sky, it must have been noon. I walked along feeling foolish.

I came to a locked gate across the road. What did that mean? There was a small entry at one side of the gate. Evidently the gate was a cattle guard. But where were the cattle? Where was the owner of the cattle? Maybe he only came around every six months.

The top of my head began to ache. I reached up and felt where I had been blackjacked in a Philadelphia bar 30 years before. Some scar tissue remained. Now the scar tissue, baked by the sun, was swollen. It stood up like a small horn. I broke a piece off and threw it in the road.

I walked another hour, then decided to turn back. It meant having to walk all the way back yet I felt it was the thing to do. I took my shirt off and draped it over my head. I stopped once or twice and screamed, " LYDIA!" There was no reply.

Some time later I got back to the gate. All I had to do was walk around it but there was something in the way. It stood in front of the gate, about 15 feet from me. It was a small doe, a fawn, a something.

I moved slowly toward it. It didn't budge. Was it going to let me by? It didn't seem to fear me. I guessed it sensed my confusion, my cowardice. I approached closer and closer. It wouldn't get out of the way. It had large beautiful brown eyes, more beautiful than the eyes of any woman I had ever seen. I couldn't believe it. I was within 3 feet of it, ready to back off, when it bolted. It ran off the road and into the woods. It was in excellent shape; it could really run.

As I walked further along the road I heard the sound of ru

After recovering a bit I noticed a pier that went out over the reservoir. I walked out on the pier and came to a large metal box bolted to the side of the pier. It was locked with a padlock. There was probably a telephone in there! I could phone for help!

I went and found a large rock and started smashing it against the lock. It wouldn't give. What the hell would Jack London do? What would Hemingway do? Jean Genet?

I kept smashing the rock against the lock. Sometimes I missed and my hand hit the lock or the metal box itself. Skin ripped, blood flowed. I gathered myself and gave the lock one final blow. It opened. I took it off and opened the metal box. There was no telephone. There were a series of switches and some heavy cables. I reached in, touched a wire, and got a terrible shock. Then I pulled a switch. I heard the roar of water. Out of 3 or 4 of the holes in the concrete face of the dam shot giant white jets of water. I pulled another switch. Three or four other holes opened up, releasing tons of water. I pulled a third switch and the whole dam let loose. I stood and watched the water pouring forth. Maybe I could start a flood and cowboys would come on horses or in rugged little pickup trucks to rescue me. I could see the headline:

HENRY CHINASKI, MINOR POET, FLOODS UTAH COUNTRYSIDE IN ORDER TO SAVE HIS SOFT LOS ANGELES ASS.

I decided against it. I threw all the switches back to normal, closed the metal box, and hung the broken lock back on it.

I left the reservoir, found another road up the way, and began following it. This road seemed more used than the other. I walked along. I had never been so tired. I could hardly see. Suddenly there was a little girl about 5 years old walking towards me. She wore a little blue dress and white shoes. She looked frightened when she saw me. I tried to look pleasant and friendly as I edged towards her.

"Little girl, don't go away. I won't hurt you. I'M LOST! Where are your parents? Little girl, take me to your parents!"

The little girl pointed. I saw a trailer and a car parked up ahead. "HEY, I'm LOST!" I shouted. "CHRIST, AM I GLAD TO SEE YOU."

Lydia stepped around the side of the trailer. Her hair was done up in red curlers. "Come on, city boy," she said. "Follow me home."

"I'm so glad to see you, baby, kiss me!"

"No. Follow me."

Lydia took off ru

"I asked those people if they had seen a city boy around," she called back over her shoulder. "They said, No."

" Lydia, I love you!"

"Come on! You're slow!"

"Wait, Lydia, wait!"

She vaulted over a barbed wire fence. I couldn't make it. I got tangled in the wire. I couldn't move. I was like a trapped cow. " LYDIA!"

She came back with her red curlers and started helping me get loose from the barbs. "I tracked you. I found your red notebook. You got lost deliberately because you were pissed."

"No, I got lost out of ignorance and fear. I am not a complete person-I'm a stunted city person. I am more or less a failed drizzling shit with absolutely nothing to offer." "Christ," she said, "don't you think I know that?" She freed me from the last barb. I lurched after her. I was back with Lydia again.